


Boundaries

by thegirlwiththemouseyhair



Series: Boundaries Verse [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Gay Character, Crush at First Sight, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1461106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/pseuds/thegirlwiththemouseyhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was just what he didn’t need – to develop some stupid infatuation with a man he could never be with, could, in fact, lose his job over. But he knew himself. He knew how stupid he always got with the wrecks of men that he was attracted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Atypically, this piece has not been beta read - but the world needs more Thomas Barrow/Edward Courtenay, and so I am impulsively trying to rectify that as soon as possible. Any typos, Brit-picking mistakes, and other issues are all my own. Also, I insist on having Edward Courtenay go by Ted Courtenay because my father's name is Edward and, awkward. (It occurred to me that I mentioned that on Tumblr but people might wonder about it who don't follow my blog.)

He’d taken more of an interest in the young, blind fellow than he usually took in patients – almost too much of an interest. Thomas had seen to him in the Accidents and Emergency when he’d presented with blood loss after slitting his wrists. He’d been lucid, unfailingly polite (which wasn’t always the case) but alarmingly quiet with the nurses, even accounting for his condition.

Then he’d connected with Thomas somehow, or Thomas had connected with him. It was ironic: Doctor Thomas Barrow wasn’t known for his bedside manner. But he acted different around Edward Courtenay.

“Ted,” he’d murmured, when Thomas first saw him, “Ted Courtenay. Edward’s my father’s name…”

He flinched a little at the mention of his father. Thomas said nothing, but wasn’t surprised. Why else would someone in Ted Courtenay’s position be here alone? He probably didn’t have much of a family. It was sad, really. A neighbour or flatmate or someone had come in with him – Thomas remembered the nurses saying as much – but she’d had to leave for work soon after.

Thomas didn’t usually worry about things like that. This time, though, he found he wanted to look after the other man.

It took them hours just to find a place on a ward for Ted. Thomas gritted his teeth whenever he saw him waiting alone in the middle of a corridor. _It’s really awful_ , he would think, and wondered who he could threaten or pull strings with or cajole on Ted’s behalf.

But at least he got to see Ted several times during his rounds.

“They’ll – get you a proper bed soon.”

Thomas tried to sound reassuring when he checked in on Ted once again. “I promise.”

“Really,” Ted replied. There was a hardness to his voice, though he sat upright like a perfect gentleman even when he was waiting on a gurney in the middle of the hall. He was, or rather had been, a pilot with the RAF – quite high-ranking too, before he was blinded in some disaster. Thomas didn’t know the details.

“I’ll speak to them for you,” he said.

Ted sighed, shifted his slim frame to lean against the wall. “Do you always take such an interest in your patients?”

Thomas’s face grew warm.

“Of course,” he lied. But the A and E was quiet, as it usually was midday on weekdays. That was all, he told himself: he had time to take an interest and maybe do some good.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t seeing anyone – a therapist, I mean.” Thomas winced a little at the stupid word choice.

“I was when I first got back,” Ted said. “But it didn’t do any good.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know why I’m waiting for anything else, in fact. I’d leave if they let me.”

“The assessment is standard procedure,” Thomas explained, though he stopped himself abruptly.

“Yes, for the mentally ill and the failed suicides…”

Ted’s composure cracked then, just a little; he clenched his hands and turned his face away, voice breaking as he spoke.

Thomas’s stomach twisted. He almost wished he hadn’t gotten into this, hadn’t said anything, for fear that he would make things worse. _I really don’t know what I’m doing_ …

“Well,” he began, hoping he did not sound quite as clumsy or as inadequate as he felt, “there’s all sorts of resources we’ll connect you with. I’ll speak to them and make sure you get – whatever you need, even if it takes some time. We’ve had cases like this before where we did a lot of good.”

Ted sighed. “Not for me. I’m finished.”

Thomas bit his lip. What _could_ you say to that? Thomas himself had never even considered giving up, no matter how many of his friends turned on him or how alone he felt – and he’d felt pretty damn alone, at times. He remembered how the girl he’d thought of as his best friend at school had outed him when he was fourteen, leading to years of violence. In one incident three older boys had cornered him, shoved him down a flight of stairs and broken his left hand so badly that it still pained him sometimes. He’d given the biggest of his attackers a hell of a black eye, which was some consolation, but that feeling of being betrayed and _hounded_ just because he was different stayed with him all his life.

But he had never, ever wanted to give up.

Ted had no doubt seen far worse. To come back from a war zone and be this alone was terrible. The thought made Thomas’s chest tighten; he told himself that there must be something he could do.

“Look,” he tried again, “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you’ll get through this.” He wished they’d send someone for the damned psych assessment already, and really hoped he wasn’t saying anything wrong. “There must be things that’ll make you happy again.”

Ted gave a bitter laugh.

“There _were_ ,” he said. His voice was thick. “The RAF was my father’s idea –” a muscle in his face twitched – “but I did love flying. Flying and traveling – and art, actually, though it seems incongruous.”  He put a hand to his temple, half-covering the scars that marred his handsome face. “Everything I’ll never do again.”

And Thomas was so struck by the other man’s pain that he did something he was never supposed to do, and actually gripped Ted’s hand, even as he heard the intercom calling for Doctor Barrow.

“I’ll come by later and see if there’s anything,” he said.

He thought _I_ love _him_ as he turned away. Then he stopped, abruptly, putting out his hand against the wall to steady himself.

The realization made his stomach grow cold. This was just what he didn’t need – to develop some stupid infatuation with a man he could never be with, could, in fact, lose his job over. (And he had gone into medicine to ensure that he’d always have a job – not to care for patients. The irony wasn’t lost on him.) But he knew himself. He knew how stupid he always got with the wrecks of men that he was attracted to.

 _Pull back and stop seeing him before you make things worse_ , he told himself. He was supposed to have treated Ted for an hour at the outside; even trying to make friends was out of bounds. _You can’t make any sort of pass at him, or even look like you are – he’s terribly vulnerable_.  

Ted needed care, support - not romantic or sexual love right now. But Thomas didn’t think he’d mind that, actually; he could see himself pouring everything he had into getting the other man through this, even if there was nothing in it for himself. Maybe he _wanted_ that – maybe that was why he was so attracted to wrecks and closet cases, to really troubled guys. He never could seem to find a normal, properly adjusted partner in some normal context. He wondered what that said about him. Maybe his work had taken over his whole life or something.

He sighed. Whatever happened, he was going to stick up for Ted Courtenay.

***

“I’m just – passing by,” Thomas said, hours later. They’d finally found a room for Ted; Thomas liked to think that the word he’d had with the coordinator had helped, though he wasn’t sure.

Ted raised one eyebrow and turned his face in Thomas’s direction.

“Isn’t this awfully far from your department?” he asked, in a surly tone that was quite unlike him.

Thomas faltered. “I’m just following up.”

“I wouldn’t think it was necessary, at this point…”

“Yeah – well –” _Does he suspect anything?_ Thomas wondered. Silence fell between them. Then Ted put one hand to his mouth to bite at the nail on his fourth finger.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re trying to help. I shouldn’t speak to you like that. Only I’ve had a call from my mother and brother and it didn’t go well.”

Thomas could imagine. “They couldn’t come _see_ you?”

“They’re in America,” Ted replied. “Family business. I – thought I’d go into it someday, but Jack’s taking over more and more…”

“Jack’s your brother?” Thomas asked.

Ted nodded. He continued gnawing at his fingernail; Thomas could see the muscles in his jaw working.

“He means to replace me,” Ted said. “Always has. But you don’t need to listen to this. I did have a psych consult, which is definitely not your department, and you must have more important things to do.”

Thomas started to shake his head, then flushed when he recalled that Ted couldn’t see him.

“It’s fine,” he said. Again he supposed he’d said the wrong thing: Ted looked so _tired_ , almost as bad as when Thomas first saw him earlier. Thomas wanted to reach out, touch his shoulder again, or do anything to help him. He knew what it was like to feel alone.

“Look, you might not want my advice – but you shouldn’t let them walk all over you,” Thomas began. His voice was unsteady; he was thinking of painful memories of his own, and wondering why he was offering Ted an intimacy he hadn’t even had with his last few boyfriends. It was stupid, but there he was. He cleared his throat. “You’ve got to fight your corner.”

Ted laughed that bitter laugh again. “What with?”

“Your brain,” Thomas replied. “I mean, what happened to you is awful, and if your family are being bastards to you – well – that’s even worse. But you don’t have to take it lying down. You’re going to get through this, and I know you _can_ stand up for yourself.”

A faint smile actually pulled at Ted’s lips. “You know, when you say things like that I almost believe you.”

Thomas relaxed just a bit. Of course Ted had seen dreadful things, things no one should have to go through – but Thomas liked to think he could empathize with him.

“You should believe me,” he said. “I’ve been – pushed around plenty in my life.”

The emotion in his voice made him rather uncomfortable. Then again, he supposed he had to sound sincere, since Ted couldn’t actually see him. For a moment he wanted to spill everything to Ted – the loneliness of his youth, the homophobia in his cozy, conservative little school, the daily thrashings and the fear that his parents, whom he loved, would hate him when they found out. (They never did: they were wonderful, especially his dad. It was everyone else who was the problem.)

But that might cross one line too many, so he stopped himself.

“The trick is, you’ve got to fight back,” he said instead. “I know you can.”

“I wish I had your faith in me,” Ted said, shrugging.

Thomas felt his pager buzz. _Damn it._

“I have to go,” he said. “I’ll try to check in on you again, though.”

Ted smiled, very faintly. Thomas thought that he must have had such a beautiful smile, when or if he was happy.

“You don’t have to, Doctor Barrow – but thanks.”

Thomas smiled back. “Hey, it’s no problem. I’ll see you later.”

***


	2. Chapter 2

It was late in the evening when Thomas got home. He was bone tired; the A&E had picked up that afternoon and hadn’t calmed down till his shift ended. Really, it was all he could do to lean against the door of his building for a minute and smoke one quick cigarette before he dragged himself inside for the night.

He dumped his keys on the kitchen counter beside the takeaway curry he’d grabbed, filled a kettle to make himself tea, then headed into the bedroom to lie down before the water even boiled.

The room was neat as a pin. It usually was. He was home so little that it hardly looked lived in, though the flat was nice enough. He remembered how his mum had come into town to help set up the place when he got the job at the hospital. She’d been so proud of him.

She wouldn’t be as proud now, though. At least Thomas didn’t think so, although it was hard for him to talk about anything personal. That wasn’t his mum’s fault: she kept in touch and meant well. He’d actually had a text from her just as he was leaving the hospital, but hadn’t read it yet. She probably wanted to visit and fuss over him, take him for supper somewhere nice (though he had far more money than she did) and remind him that she was fine with ‘the gay thing’ but that he should really settle down with a nice partner – maybe even start a family.

He was so far away from all that, even talking about it was ridiculous.

He supposed he couldn’t blame his mum. She didn’t have much going on since his dad died the year before.

Thomas pushed the thought away. He rolled onto his side and shut his eyes. The image of Ted Courtenay’s face hovered in his mind’s eye; he wondered what it would be like to curl up beside the other man and wrap him in his arms, or kiss his soft lips…

_For fuck’s sake_ , he told himself, _stop thinking_ _like that. You’ve known the guy for like a day and a half. You can’t date him – you were the doctor who sutured his wrists in the AE. That’s not OK._

Besides, Ted was almost certainly straight. Even if they’d met in the street or in a shop – or if Thomas had treated him for five minutes for a sprained ankle or something where they were just about equals – he still wouldn’t have a chance.

The kettle started screeching loud enough for Thomas to hear it in his bedroom. He jumped out of bed before it burned. As he entered the kitchen the smell of curry hit him, making him wince. Really, he was too tired to be hungry. He didn’t even know why he had bothered picking anything up. But the takeaway box wouldn’t be any more appealing tomorrow. He supposed he should eat something.

Thomas dumped a tea bag into a mug, poured some water and perched on one of the bar stools to eat his takeaway. Every other thought that crossed his mind was of Ted Courtenay. He berated himself, of course, but it was a bit late for that. He’d fallen damn hard.

Maybe he needed to go out to a club, find some nice looking guy and fuck him senseless. He had _some_ time to himself, after all. He could go this weekend. Maybe they’d text and then see each other a few days later. Thomas knew he should be looking for men he could actually get involved with.

But he was more likely to drink too much and bring home some idiot he wouldn’t want anything to do with in the morning – or make some drunken, bitchy, smart ass comment and start a whole row when they were together. Awkward. He might also find the one man in the club who was completely in the closet and fall head over heels for him. He’d had that with Jimmy, the blond pretty boy Thomas had wasted months and months on a year ago.

Sitting home alone and pining for a handsome, damaged patient of his didn’t look so bad in comparison. He smiled to himself. _Ted’s got everything I want in a partner: great smile, light colouring, and fucked up enough that things will never work out. Queer’s optional – I can make an idiot of myself over straight guys just fine._

He might have to speak to someone if his infatuation got any more out of hand. He half-remembered the subject coming up in a training session when he started at the hospital. One of those dull, self-righteous types from HR had given a talk on professional boundaries – John Bates was the guy’s name. Bates had been on the panel that interviewed Thomas, and had given Thomas the hardest time. Naturally, when he gave a presentation to new staff a few months later, Thomas had tuned him out on principle.

That might have been a stupid thing to do, although he didn’t think he’d confide much in John Bates in any event. But they did say to talk these sorts of problems over.

For a moment Thomas reconsidered meeting up with his mum. She always _tried_ to be understanding. That, however, sounded too pathetic even for him. He wasn’t a school kid with a first crush. Besides, he didn’t want to look like the sort of dodgy bastard who’d sexually harass a psych patient. Thomas wasn’t a particularly good man and while he knew it and didn’t pretend otherwise, that was a hell of line to cross.

_Definitely not something to tell Mum about._

And then he recalled that one of the few friends he had at the hospital, social worker Sybil Crawley, had returned from her maternity leave sometime that month. She’d be perfect to talk to, Thomas didn’t doubt it.

More importantly, she’d be better placed to help Ted than he was. Thomas really did care about the other man’s well-being, even if he would get nothing out of this relationship himself. It was weird and rare for him to think like that, yet he was making it his mission to see Ted Courtenay through his troubles.

He finished as much cold curry as he could stand, then dug out his mobile to text Sybil.

***

The hospital coffee shop was closing when Thomas tried to duck into it. He had been waiting to meet Sybil, but she texted him that one of her appointments was running late and could he get two coffees to go so they could talk in her office when she got in?

He didn’t mind. At least, he didn’t mind having to wait for Sybil, who’d done him so many favours when he started at the hospital and then again when his dad died. Besides, Daisy, the uni student who always worked the closing shifts at the coffee shop, clearly fancied him. Thomas had laughed out loud when he realized it. Then he saw how useful Daisy could make herself. She was very good about letting him in even when she was locking up and giving him free pastries or drinks when no one was around.

The doors were already locked this time. But there was some new girl working there. She pointed at the door and shook her head, tossing long, purple-streaked brown hair over her shoulder. Thomas glared at her. She refused to unlock the place until Daisy stepped out from the back for a moment and evidently said something to her.

“Our hours are posted outside,” the new girl said, finally letting Thomas in.

“Things get _busy_ here,” he retorted. “It’s a hospital, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He heard Daisy’s voice from the back again.

“Ivy, Doctor Barrow works in the A&E. You should give him a break; he’s only a couple minutes late.”

“Look, can I get two coffees, for me and a colleague?” Thomas asked, sighing.

“Fine,” Ivy said. “Sorry. What can I get you?”

He ordered his double espresso and Sybil’s decaf white chocolate latte. Ivy nodded, then resumed what he supposed was a conversation with Daisy loud enough to be heard in the back.

“Anyway,” Ivy called, ignoring Thomas, “I think you’re wrong. Twenty quid’s not much, and I really love that quote. Besides, my friends with tattoos say it doesn’t hurt much…”

“May I get the drinks without the barista’s life story, please?” Thomas broke in.

Ivy blushed. “Sure. Sorry.”

At last Ivy handed him the two coffees. He said his thanks in a painfully polite tone that did little to compensate for the scowl he gave her. Then he was off. He could have used some free end of day pastries, maybe take up a brownie or something to Ted. But Ivy seemed like a new and definitely _not_ improved version of Daisy, and asking at the end of all that unpleasantness was a bad idea.

_Well,_ he thought to himself, _you might have been overreacted, too_. It was just as well that Sybil – or Ted for that matter – hadn’t been there to see it.

At least Sybil was there and already sitting at her office desk when Thomas approached. She beamed at him.

“It’s been so long,” she said, motioning him inside and clasping his hand as soon as he put the two mugs down on her desk. She looked more tired than he had ever seen her, though her smile was as bright as ever. “You’ve got to come meet Gwen sometime.”

“I will – just don’t tell my mum how great I am with kids,” he said. “She’s already on my case to adopt grandchildren.”

Sybil laughed. “I promise I won’t.” Then she grew serious again. “Now, you said you had a patient you were worried about?”

Thomas gritted his teeth. He almost wished he hadn’t texted her – not yet, not when there was so little to actually _say_. But he didn’t suppose it would get any easier if he waited. Anyway, he reminded himself that she was in a better position to look out for Ted than he was.

“Let’s close the door,” he said. “It’s sort of private.”

Sybil nodded. “Fine. I understand.”

***

“That _is_ hard,” Sybil agreed, when Thomas was done telling the whole sad story. “Hard on you, I mean. But understandable. It happens to a lot of people.”

She reached across the desk to take his hand. Thomas stared down at her fingers as she squeezed his, studying her blue nail varnish because he was too awkward to look her in the face.

“Yeah, well, I’m obviously not – going to do anything,” he said. He could hear his accent becoming more pronounced, as it did when he was nervous; it contrasted sharply with Sybil’s more posh speech. She never cared about things like that but he bit his lip anyway, suddenly shy.

“I’d never take advantage or anything like that,” he added. “I just want him to be all right.”

“Of course,” Sybil said, quickly. “I trust you, you know. You’re not a bad person.”

That was almost too kind, too much to live up to. Thomas gave a short laugh.

“I think you’re sort of sublimating attraction into wanting to do your best work and take care of him,” Sybil remarked.

Thomas shrugged. He reached into his pocket and fumbled with his pack of cigarettes, though of course he could hardly have a smoke now.

“But I do think you should reassert boundaries, especially now that you’re no longer treating him,” Sybil added.

_Yeah, well, I’m still seeing him right after this_ , Thomas thought. He knew she was _right_ : he wouldn’t get a grip on himself, or meet a real possible partner, if he kept seeking out men he couldn’t have. Still, he wasn’t about to leave Ted – not when the poor bloke seemed to need and want him.

“Can you help him?” Thomas asked.

Sybil frowned.

“I’d have to pull some strings to get on the file,” she said, “but I don’t have much on my plate now. I’ll try.” She paused. “Although if I end up working with him, I really can’t talk to you in the same way anymore…”

 “That’s fine,” Thomas said.

It was, of course, outside the proper channels. Really, Thomas wasn’t supposed to have any involvement with Ted Courtenay at this point – but he trusted Sybil more than some faceless psychiatrist whom he’d never met. Besides, he had to do _something_ for the other man.

“What ward’s he on?”

Thomas told her.

“I’ll find out who’s in charge of treating him,” Sybil promised. Then she sighed. “I don’t even know if I can volunteer – although God knows they could use it. It takes long enough to set things up through referrals, even in an urgent case. It’s a shame, since he’s probably fallen through the cracks already.”

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Thomas said. He hesitated, because it wasn’t easy for him to bare his own feelings like that, even with his rare friends. “I think I’ll – obsess less if I know you’re trying.”

“Good,” Sybil said. “And take care of yourself, too. I promise I’ll look into this.”

***

He ignored Sybil’s advice, as he had planned, and went up to Ted’s ward right after speaking with her. He told himself that he would only be five minutes, since his own shift started so soon. No harm could possibly come of it.

But Ted was no longer there. Thomas started when he saw some old man dozing in the bed that Ted had been using. The new patient woke up long enough to glare at Thomas. Thomas muttered an apology, then turned on his heel to find the nurse in charge of the ward.

“What happened to Ted Courtenay?” he demanded.

The nurse blinked at him.

“Mr. Courtenay,” Thomas repeated. _Come on, how can you not know anything?_

“I’m checking,” the nurse said. She looked down at her computer, typed something, then turned back to Thomas with a shrug. “It says Mr. Courtenay signed himself out this morning. Doctor Clarkson – the doctor in charge – gave him the proper referrals, and he packed up his things and left.”

“What?” Thomas’s voice rose. “He wasn’t ready for that. He sounded as bad as when he came in, and he’s got no family to go to…”

The nurse furrowed her brow.

“It says here he does have family. His mother cut short a trip to America to take him home.”  

“But I just spoke to him yesterday  –”

“Well, I don’t see why you should have done,” the nurse said. “You only just treated him when he came in. Everything’s been done properly; he was referred to community treatment. _You_ don’t need to do anything.”

Thomas glared at her. But his stomach was growing cold with worry; even anger was hard to keep up, now. _No one fucking paid attention to him like I did. I know it’ll sound like a stupid, inappropriate infatuation, and I won’t argue with that, but I want what’s_ best _for him…_

“I’ll speak to Doctor Clarkson,” he said, lamely. The nurse’s phone was ringing, however, and she picked it up without so much as another glance in Thomas’s direction.

He took several steps down the hall, looking around him. He’d never even met Doctor Clarkson, but he would have gladly barged into his office if only his own shift weren’t starting within minutes.

He was cursing his own job as he stepped into the elevator, reluctantly.

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this has not been beta read or Brit-picked, so I take full responsibilities for mistakes. I also note that despite my research, my understanding of practical day-to-day procedures in NHS hospitals remains shaky, so I may be taking artistic license here without even realizing it.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn’t find Doctor Clarkson until the next evening. Clarkson was an older man, rather stern; Thomas recognized him, though he wouldn’t have been able to put a name to the face until now.

Thomas was blunt – rather too blunt – in speaking to him.

“Don’t you think it was a bit soon to let Mr. Courtenay go?” he asked, as soon as the older doctor waved him into his office.

Clarkson frowned. Thomas supposed he was coming on awfully strong, and sounding awfully accusing, but he didn’t care much.

“I beg your pardon, Doctor…?”

Thomas suppressed a sigh.

“Barrow,” he said. “I treated Mr. Courtenay when he was first admitted.”

Clarkson stared at him. _Nice going_ , Thomas thought.

“I’m – concerned about him,” he added.

Clarkson actually blinked in astonishment.

“Well, I can assure you I would not discharge _my_ patient if it weren’t appropriate,” he said. “I’m not entirely sure why you’re here.”

“I told you,” Thomas continued. He stood up a little taller. “I treated him when he came in, and I kept seeing him on my rounds. We became sort of friendly. He seemed severely depressed.”

Silence fell. Then Clarkson shook his head.

“Your concern does you credit,” he said, “but I need hardly remind you that I’m a specialist in this field, not you. I talked with Mr. Courtenay; I evaluated him, and I referred him to the resources he needs. If you must know, he said he regrets his attempt. I don’t even think it was a serious one, but I am confident he’ll follow up with the proper resources.”

“Well, I hope so,” Thomas said, stupidly. His jaw was tense. He could feel himself scowling at Clarkson – another thing he couldn’t be arsed to care about.

“You needn’t sound so skeptical of myjudgment,” Clarkson said, acidly.

Thomas checked himself. Clarkson must have been at this hospital for twenty years; Thomas had worked there for less than two. But things didn’t seem _right._ Ted had been so hopeless, so convinced that he’d lost everything.

“I’m sorry, Doctor Clarkson,” Thomas said. “Only I talked to him a few times and what I heard worried me.”

“As I explained, it shouldn’t have,” Clarkson repeated, more firmly. “And I hardly need you to come up here and tell me how I should practice my speciality.”

“I only –”

“I’ll grant that you seem to mean well,” Clarkson said. “And I’ll overlook your tone. Now, I’m going to assume you have your own work down in the A&E?”

_Fuck_ , Thomas thought. There didn’t seem to be much he could say to convince Clarkson that his own judgment was better, even if it was.

Thomas knew when he was beaten, at least for now.

“I’m going,” he said, and turned out of the office.

***

Thomas didn’t know if he’d ever see Ted Courtenay again. He found himself worrying about the other man on the drive home and missing his exit at the roundabout, or thinking about Ted and asking the wrong questions of patients he was actually _with_ during the day. God, he just wanted to see things through, to know Ted was all right. Was that so much to ask?

He spoke to Clarkson again later that week. The older doctor was just as bad as he had been at first, however. Thomas doubted he could ask much more of him. He soon learned that Sybil had spoken to him, too, and had no more luck, though Thomas suspected she was far more diplomatic in her efforts than he had been in his.

“Doctor Clarkson said everything’s settled,” Sybil told Thomas over a hasty coffee. “He said Mr. Courtenay was referred to therapy and that’s that.” She was frowning; Thomas could see the faint lines standing out in her forehead.

“He said you were asking the same thing – and he seemed rather annoyed about it all,” she added with a sigh.

Thomas grimaced. “Yeah. So he seemed.”

“I’m sorry, Thomas,” Sybil said. “If I think of anything else, I’ll try it. You know I will – but Doctor Clarkson was adamant that he did everything right.”

“It’s not your fault,” Thomas said. Then Sybil’s mobile buzzed. She had to take it, apparently. Thomas mouthed another thank you before waving goodbye and heading down the hall to the A&E.

Then Ted himself showed up at the hospital a week later. Thomas was about to leave when he saw the other man standing by the reception, leaning on his white cane.

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks. It took him a moment to even call Ted’s name.

Ted turned toward the sound of his voice. He looked all right, and he was clearly getting around under his own power, yet seeing him was at once alarming and extraordinary.

“Are you ok?” Thomas asked, crossing the space between them.

“Is that Doctor Barrow?”

“Yeah,” Thomas replied. He wished he’d thought to identify himself.

Ted smiled at him anyway, though it was a weak smile and did not reach his eyes.

“I’m as all right as I’m going to be,” he said.

Thomas furrowed his brow. “Do you need anything? Are you checked in?”

“No,” Ted replied. “I’m not here as a patient – but I did want to speak to you.”

“’ Course,” Thomas said. “We can step into my office…”

“No,” Ted said again. “I won’t need that long. I just want to say thanks.”

“You don’t have to,” Thomas said, frowning. Ted’s voice was distant; something about it alarmed Thomas. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Ted ignored the question.

“You did a lot; I don’t want to seem ungrateful.”

“You’re not,” Thomas said, leaning in closer. “Anyway, it’s my job. I want to help. Have you started any therapy?”

Ted stiffened, seemed to shrink into himself. He clutched more tightly at his cane. “I called. They said it’ll be a few weeks.”

Yes: there was definitely something wrong, something too _tired_ in Ted’s voice. Thomas didn’t like it at all.

“Well, don’t back down,” he said.

Ted shrugged. Thomas stared hard at him.

“Look, I know I’m not really involved anymore – officially and all that – but I want you to get whatever you need. Press them if you have to.” He bit his lip, thinking fast. “Should I give you my number? My mobile, I mean, if you ever want to talk. I assume your phone has a voice recorder, if it’ll make things easier…”

A faint blush came into Ted’s pale face.

“I suppose there’s no harm in taking it – only my mother’s waiting outside with the car, so I don’t have long.”

He fumbled for his mobile. It wasn’t adapted; Thomas wondered how he managed with it. But then, Ted hadn’t been back from Iraq for very long, and he seemed to have given up in the time that he _had_ been home. Thomas remembered Sybil’s phrase, about falling through the cracks. Ted seemed determined to _let_ himself fall through the cracks. It made Thomas want to panic.

“Call me if you need anything, all right?” Thomas said, as firmly as he could. “Really. Don’t feel bad.”

Ted took the phone and drew back from Thomas.

“Thanks,” he said, coolly.

_He’s saying goodbye_ , Thomas thought, desperately. His hands were cold and his chest tight, but he forced himself to sound reassuring.

“Just call me if you need anything,” he repeated.

Ted gave another weak smile. “Do you always take such an interest?”

_Someone has to_ , Thomas thought. He could think of nothing to say aloud, however.

 “I _am_ grateful,” Ted said again. “But I have to leave…”

“You sure?” Thomas asked. His heart rate was increasing; he didn’t think Ted should be alone or staying with his hated family now. Thomas _wished_ he could keep Ted with him, or compel him to call, at least. Nothing about this situation felt right.  

“Yes.”

“You’re staying with your mum?”

Ted nodded. “For now. Anyway, I need to leave. I can’t get around much myself, you know…”

That same bitterness was in his voice. Thomas thought, _Why the fuck has no one done anything_?

“Take care,” he said. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so sincere.

Ted faltered for a moment before nodding and hurrying from the room.

 Thomas watched him go with that sick, clenched feeling in his chest. _He’s going to do it again_ , he thought, wishing he were wrong. _And I can’t stop him. Christ, what can I do to stop him?_ He thought he would call Ted, proactively, even if that would cross some line that he didn’t really care about. He’d speak to Clarkson again, too, and Sybil. Maybe something would do some damn good.

***

But nothing did. It was as if Ted were slipping through Thomas’s fingers completely, no matter what Thomas tried. Ted hadn’t even listed an up to date number for his mum’s flat on the intake forms. Thomas went through them all, though he wasn’t supposed to, and called to no avail.

He was more irritable than ever. He wouldn’t have wanted Ted to see him acting like this, like a total bastard and an incompetent doctor, but God damn it: he was half sick with obsession.

Thomas had never, ever invested himself in a patient like this before. Sometimes he would picture Ted’s beautiful, scarred face, or remember his tone of voice, and all but forget where he was. He could hardly concentrate at those times.

To make things worse, Clarkson had the nerve to disappear on vacation that week. Thomas should have figured. Of course the one time he really cared, the one time he really wanted to do some good for someone, everything would go against him.

But there was one thing he could do. For the first time since he’d started at the hospital, he volunteered for as many hours as he could. He said he hoped to travel that summer and needed to earn any extra time off that he could get. Really, though, his instincts told him that he might just see Ted Courtenay again. Ted might _need_ him – and if heaven forbid he tried to harm himself again, Thomas would be there for him.

And he was. Thomas’s instincts were proved right. He wished it were otherwise, of course, but sure enough, on a dreary, rainy night within three weeks of his first attempt, Ted was admitted to hospital again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reiterate that this has not been beta read. Also, despite my research, this fic still may contain liberal arts grad medicine (and hospital procedure).


	4. Chapter 4

 

At least Thomas was on call. It was so much déjà vu, though that hardly helped him.

Ted had tried to hang himself this time. Just reading the words in the file they gave him made Thomas go cold. Luckily, Ted had struggled down and called 999. Thomas didn’t know if that was a good sign or not – a sign that he might want to live after all. But then, hanging was so often fatal, or at least more _likely_ to be fatal; the method could argue against any sign of hope. Thomas didn’t know. He just didn’t know what went on in Ted’s mind.

But he did know he would do a better job of looking after him than anyone else at this hospital, no matter what it took.

_Oh yeah?_ he thought, forcing his shaking hands into the pocket of his coat. The joints in his left hand were inflamed and painful; he supposed the stress and the extra work had taken their toll. It was the last thing he needed now. He flexed his fingers. _Then calm the fuck down and go see him_.

He was aching for a cigarette as he headed into the exam room. Still, he forced himself to look calm, professional, before anyone noticed that something was amiss.

“Ted Courtenay?” he asked. “It’s Doctor Barrow.” _Again_.

Ted turned his face towards Thomas. Thomas could see, even from across the room, that he was breathing _almost_ normally, though his eyes were red and swollen and he had ugly bruises circling his neck. His white cane was leaned against the bed. Maybe, Thomas thought, if he’d had the presence of mind to grab it before leaving his flat in the ambulance, he’d avoided any too serious injury.

“Fuck,” Ted said, hoarsely, “you’ll be upset with me…”

_I did just patch you up three weeks ago_ , Thomas thought. That, however, was definitely the wrong thing to say. Instead he asked “What happened?”

Some of that was in the triage forms, of course, but it would help him to keep Ted talking. From the look of him he needed more care for his psychiatric injuries than the physical ones, though Thomas would do whatever he could for those. _And this time, you’re not leaving this hospital without a proper plan. I don’t care whose toes I have to step on to look after you._

Ted swallowed.

“I tried to hang myself,” he said, matter-of-factly. “There’s this sort of support beam in my flat. It seemed perfect. I tried with an old scarf because I couldn’t figure out how to do it properly with a belt.”

He was fierce, oddly proud of himself, though his breathing quickened as he spoke. Clearly he had thought the matter through. Thomas grimaced. Ted must have been absolutely splendid before all of this. Thomas imagined him in uniform, with that same proud, determined look in his eyes, but with a smile on his face. _For fuck’s sake, I wish you’d put all that energy and all that cleverness into living, not dying_.

“Go on,” he said, in a neutral tone. His own heart was racing, however.

This time, Ted looked down.

“I – got scared,” he continued. His voice almost broke, now. “And I didn’t tie it right, so I got myself down.” He hesitated, composing himself. “Are you going to examine me or not?”

“I need to know all this,” Thomas countered, patiently. “For one thing, I can see that your airway’s not seriously compromised because you’re speaking and breathing all right – really well, in fact. For another, I can observe your mental state like this. I also need to know if you lost consciousness at all. Did you?”

The other man shook his head, wincing a little as he did so.

“No. And you know, I wish I could say I had an epiphany and I’ll never do it again,” he murmured. “But I can’t. Not for sure.”

“But you did call for help,” Thomas added.

“Because I’m a fucking pathetic coward.”

Thomas jerked forward to grip his arm.

“Sh,” he said, “you’re _not_.”

Ted made no reply. Thomas beckoned one of the nurses and asked her to fetch him an oxygen monitor. When she brought it to him he took Ted’s hand in his own, gently, and slipped the device onto his finger.

“I’m checking the oxygen level in your blood,” Thomas said. The reading was almost normal; really, Ted was _so_ lucky to be doing as well as he was. It pained Thomas that he couldn’t see that – or could barely see it.

“Your readings are remarkably good,” Thomas said. “Did you follow up at all? About the therapy, I mean. When you left here.” He bit back a lecture, _you should have done as we told you_ ; it didn’t seem helpful.

“They had weeks long waiting lists,” Ted admitted. “And I didn’t press too hard, either.”

Thomas gave a small sigh.

“Yeah, well, we’ll have to get that sorted,” he said. “Really, I don’t blame you, but you were free to call me any time if you wanted anything.”

Silence. Thomas stepped back and turned to the nurse.

“We’re going to need some X-rays – a chest X-ray and a soft tissue neck X-ray to start.”

“Yes, Doctor Barrow.”

He had to suppress a shudder when he thought of the damage he was screening for. There was a reason, of course, why you weren’t supposed to treat people you loved; he was almost more shaken than Ted himself was, and didn’t know how he was holding it together.

“You know it’s a horrible way to die,” he said. This time he couldn’t help himself. “You’re really lucky to be in the shape you’re in now.”

Ted bit at his lower lip.

“I don’t _feel_ it,” he said. “Really, I just want all this to stop.” There was a hitch in his voice that wasn’t just from the hoarseness. It was as close to breaking as Thomas had ever heard him. He wondered for a second if Ted might actually cry.

_Damn_ , he thought. He wished he’d been more tactful.

“Want what to stop?” he asked, his voice so tender he was sure he’d get in trouble if anyone was listening. But he’d sent one nurse out to alert the radiologist, and the younger woman still standing by him had such poor English that she was unlikely to pick up on much. “You want to stop _living_ , or stop feeling like this?”

“Either,” Ted replied. He sounded calm once again.

“Well, let’s try for the second option, ok?” Thomas said. “Now, we’re going to have to do those X-rays…”

“Will you be with me?” Ted asked. Then his face reddened. “God, I’m sorry, I’m so stupid.”

Thomas cut him off.

“You’re not, and I’ll be right here,” he said. “And I’m listening.”

***

“I know you should probably go,” Ted said. His voice was a little stronger.

Thomas would have to go soon, unfortunately, though he didn’t really care. He liked to think that his other patients could wait; no one else’s problems were half as important to _him_ right now. He wasn’t leaving Ted any sooner than was absolutely necessary.

That was, of course, why he’d lingered over Ted’s X-rays ( _checked out all right, thank Christ_ ) far longer than he needed to.

“It’s all right,” Thomas said. “We’re waiting for someone to do your assessment.” With Clarkson away, they might get someone less bloody negligent. It had worked out just as well.

 “Again? I can’t say they did much good before,” Ted said.

Thomas had to bite his tongue.

“I know. You’ll see someone different this time, though, and I’ll – I’ll tell them how urgent it is. I’ll back you up. I just want you to do your part, all right?”

Thomas didn’t know if he could actually _do_ any of that. Everything was so fragmented. It was only by avoiding other patients or staying after his own shifts were over that he’d been able to spend time with Ted at all. He’d have no role in assigning a psych professional, and had only gotten to speak to Clarkson by barging in on him after the fact. He tried to recall previous patients who’d attempted suicide. Thomas had paid almost no attention at all to the aftermath, once they were out of his department and he was no longer involved.

But for Ted he would _try_.

“I just don’t know what the point is,” Ted said. “I don’t know what the point of anything has been in so long.”

Thomas drew closer to him. “The crash, you mean? Or…”

“Everything.” He seemed as if he were about to speak, then stopped. “But I shouldn’t bore you.”

“No, go on if you want to talk,” Thomas put in, quickly, before his pager would go off and drag him away from Ted.

“I told you,” he added, “I’m listening.”

Ted inhaled deeply.

“It’s just so pointless,” he said. “I – I wasn’t even doing anything when it happened. The crash. There was no dogfight, nothing heroic or important. I was going from point A to point B and – you see the result.”

His voice was growing hoarser now. Thomas still wished he could stay all night and listen, even if it was tiring for Ted and even if none of this was Thomas’s speciality.

“Look, if it were me I’d have stayed in a safe, _normal_ country like England,” Thomas said. “And stayed on the ground, too.”

Ted gave a bitter half-laugh. “Still doesn’t mean there was any fucking point to it.” He fidgeted, picked at the skin around his fingernail, then murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Thomas said. He’d looked for an excuse to dismiss the nurses and be alone with Ted, even if it was just a couple minutes. He liked to think that he could do the other man some good. Ted seemed a little calmer, more willing to confront what had happened to him, when they were talking. At least, Thomas liked to think so.

“If it helps you, go ahead. Say whatever you like with me.”

“I would have thought you’d tell me to save my strength and wait for the psych assessment,” Ted replied. His voice cracked a little; he cleared his throat, wincing. “God, I sound like hell. Do I look it?”

“No,” Thomas said, “but I don’t want to see you looking like this again, all right?”

The faintest hint of a smile lit Ted’s haggard face. “Why?”

“Because you don’t have to be a victim,” Thomas replied. “You can beat this. All of it.”

“Alone?” Ted asked.

The smile was gone now.

Thomas resisted the urge to clasp his shoulder, or something. “You don’t have to be alone.”

Thomas wasn’t a kind or caring person, but Ted seemed to bring out everything decent in him. He imagined what it might have been like if they were dating; he could have been the supportive, loving partner he’d never had the chance to be, in his long and disastrous history. He imagined holding Ted in his arms when he got low, making sure he found himself a decent therapist and went to every single appointment… Making sure he wasn’t alone for long when he got like this…

“You’re awfully kind,” Ted said, noncommittally.

_I’d be with you every step of the way, if I could_ , Thomas thought. God, it was amazing how sappy he could be.

He felt his pager buzz and gritted his teeth, though he managed to keep the irritation from his voice.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Look, I think you did a brave thing in coming here.”

Ted turned his face away, as if he still felt the need to avoid Thomas’s gaze.

“Yes. Well…”

Thomas’s pager buzzed again. _Damn it_. The younger nurse stepped back into the room and hesitated by the doorway with an expectant look on her face. Thomas had to look down to keep from barking at her.

“Isn’t that your pager, Doctor Barrow?” Ted asked, his expression unreadable.

Thomas suppressed a sigh. “Yeah. I’m sorry, but I will have to go.”

He was about to say that Ted would have his assessment soon, and he would be there for him if he was needed, but Ted headed him off.

“It’s all right – only I wish you could pass by and say hello sometime. If you have time to waste.”

Thomas was sure he could see the other man blushing; the words sounded wrung out of him, too. If the nurse hadn’t been there he would have taken Ted’s hand in a heartbeat.

“You’re not a waste of time at all,” he said, firmly. “And I’ll definitely be by.”

The pager buzzed a third time. The nurse looked rather worried, as if she wanted to cluck her tongue at him but didn’t quite dare. Thomas glared at her anyway.

“I’ll see you,” he said to Ted. Then he nodded at the nurse and spoke more brusquely, “I’m just taking the file to make some notes.”

He grabbed Ted’s chart and headed from the room, sure that if he didn’t leave now, he wouldn’t be able to walk away from the other man at all. He was still awfully slow in getting back to work, still awfully distracted – seriously considering whether he could write and walk at the same time. But he was going to have his say this time, whether anyone took the recommendations of a junior A&E doctor or not.

Finding a quieter corner, he turned to face the wall and held the clipboard up against it. The awkward position was the last thing his hand needed; it made the dull, half-forgotten ache burn in his joints again. _Better not get in the habit of writing like this_ , he thought, but began scribbling anyway. He was only writing down what should be obvious to anyone who would _listen_ to Ted, but then, that seemed like a lot to ask of this hospital. And he knew it wasn’t his place, but he made a clear note of the sort of follow up he knew the other man needed. _Persistent and consistent in following up and connecting patient to resources…_ He was thinking of Sybil as he wrote it.

When he finished, he flexed his fingers gingerly and hurried back into the A&E. Another of the nurses he worked with passed him. He beckoned to her.

“I’m – very busy,” he said, “and I need you to put this back in Mr. Courtenay’s file, all right? Since you seemed to be headed that way.”

She nodded. Thomas handed her the file and walked on, ignoring that awful, nervous craving for a cigarette.


	5. Chapter 5

At least they gave Ted a new psychiatrist – a Doctor Jones, Isobel Jones, Thomas thought. He didn’t know her at all, but she kept Ted on a seventy-two hour suicide watch, which was already far more than Clarkson had done.

Ted was terribly bored, of course. He had a little room to himself this time, hardly bigger than a cupboard and with Spartan furnishings even by hospital standards. But there was nothing he could use to harm himself if he were so minded.

He had someone stationed by the door at all times, too. Usually it was a young man named William who’d tried to question Thomas when Thomas first visited. Thomas knew he wasn’t officially involved anymore, but that didn’t stop him pulling rank on the younger man. He wasn’t about to be stopped by a slouching nurse’s assistant.

Thomas hoped he wouldn’t sound like too much of a jerk to Ted, who had doubtless heard his exchange with William. But he was trying to do good, wasn’t he? And he really thought that he was helping. Ted seemed calmer, steadier, after spending even a few minutes with Thomas.

“I’m not going to kill myself now,” he said on the second day. “At least not today. I just wish they’d let me do something.”

Thomas had brought up some brownies from the coffee shop, hoping to cheer Ted up. He supposed – hoped – it was working. Ted had shared them with Thomas, and had definitely had a decent appetite. He also seemed willing to joke about his situation for the first time since Thomas had met him.

“Why don’t I get you an audiobook or something?” Thomas suggested. “The library near my flat’s always advertising their collection.”

Actually, the library near Thomas’s flat had run a campaign advertising that particular collection about six months before. But it was close enough to the truth.

Thomas still tensed a bit when he said it, afraid to cause Ted pain by reminding him of his condition. To his surprise Ted smiled. It wasn’t a guarantee that he was all right or that he’d accepted the loss of his eyesight – Ted was hard to read even when he was smiling – but it was better than Thomas had feared, for a moment.

“God, you may have to,” he said. “Although I don’t know how I’d get it back to you. They’re supposed to set me free in another day or so.”

Thomas frowned.

“Well, I hope they’ve made better plans for you this time,” he said.

“I still don’t know how you have time to worry so much about me,” Ted countered.

Thomas’s shift had ended almost two hours ago, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t have anywhere important to be. Besides, he was calmer and steadier himself when he was around Ted, even if his crush was a hopeless one. It was as if the other man made him better, somehow.

“I have time because –” _Because I care about you and I don’t want you to be alone._ “ – because I’m a great doctor like that. I go the extra mile.”

Ted scoffed. “I can’t see you doing this for everyone. But to answer your question, they’re insisting that I live with my mum and my brother for a while, and that I meet with a social worker every day, initially.”

Thomas’s ears pricked up at that. He wondered if Sybil, working independently, had managed to get herself on the file. He hadn’t even seen her since Ted was admitted again; she was so busy with her family and resuming her practice, but he wondered…

In his excitement he almost missed the look of embarrassment on Ted’s face.

“Did you catch their name?” Thomas asked. “And I don’t think it’ll be for long – staying with your family.”

“You can’t know that,” Ted said snappishly. His brows knit together and he flushed. Thomas checked himself, remembering that that was a sore spot for him.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said, making sure he sounded more subdued. It seemed the safest bet. “I’m not making light of anything.”

Ted sighed. “No, I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t be so rude.”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Thomas shifted in his chair and bit at a thin line of dirt – crumbs, probably – under his fingernail. “But I do know some of the people in the Mental Health Trust. I couldn’t _decide_ who you’d work with, but maybe I know them and can tell you what to expect.”

“Well, they said a social worker was best suited to my needs and they mentioned somebody by the name of Sybil Crowley or Crawley or something. Do you know her?”

Maybe it was stupid; maybe Thomas was expecting too much or being too optimistic, but relief washed over him at that. He grinned from ear to ear.

“I do,” he replied. “And actually, I was hoping and crossing my fingers that you’d get to work with her. She’s a friend of mine. You couldn’t be in better hands.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to cooperate,” Ted said. The ghost of a smile was pulling at his mouth again.

“You’d better,” Thomas replied. “Look, do you have any idea when you’ll be leaving? The time, I mean, I’d want to see you before…”

“You know, one would think _you_ could find that out yourself,” Ted answered with a shrug.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of people involved,” Thomas said. “A lot of levels of bureaucracy.”

“Well, if I hear anything definite before your next visit, I’ll tell you,” Ted promised. “And you can get me some more of those brownies from the coffee shop. They’re quite good. Better than the meals I’ve been getting.”

It was amazing, to be laughing and joking with him so soon after the other night. Thomas started to reach for Ted’s hand, then caught himself and put his own hand back in his pocket.

“I’ll get you whatever you like,” he said. “One of the girls who works there fancies me. She’s – really nice about whatever I order.”

“I should have figured you were a heartbreaker,” Ted actually teased him. “You sound like it.”

Thomas wondered what that was supposed to mean.

“Nothing’s going to happen because –” He stopped himself from coming out to Ted. There was nothing wrong with his being gay, of course, and Thomas had been comfortable with himself for years. But he didn’t want to look like he was hitting on Ted. Given the circumstances – given that he wouldn’t even be able to _deny_ his attraction if he was asked – it seemed a bit dodgy.

“Go on,” Ted said. “I’ve had nothing to do except sit and think. I could use to hear about you or anyone else right now.”

“Nah, never mind,” Thomas said.

“No, go on,” Ted insisted.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, the only item of furniture in the room except for the bed and the night table on which they’d shared the brownies.

“Well, nothing’s going to happen. She’s – not my type.” _Fuck,_ Thomas thought. _That’s just awkward_.

“Anyway,” he went on, changing the subject, “I’ll ask around on my end, about your discharge, and you tell me if you hear a definite time first, all right?” Thomas asked. “So I can see you off and all.”

“It’s a deal,” Ted said. Then he bit his lip and picked at a loose thread on the hospital gown. “But if I don’t get to see you again, I just want to say thanks. Really, you’ve done a lot for me. Thanks for – well – for being kind without treating me like I’m pathetic.”

“You’re not, Thomas said firmly. “Far from it. Don’t let anyone tell you that, and don’t tell it to yourself, either.”

“I’ll try,” Ted responded.

Of course William would knock on the door just then.

“Mr. Courtenay, Doctor Jones will be in a bit earlier today – she’s on the way now, in fact –”

He stopped short when he saw Thomas, and all but took a step backwards. Thomas had to fight back a smirk. He’d put the fear of God into William, all right.

“I was just visiting a friend,” Thomas explained to William, standing. “Ted, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

He did manage to learn when Ted would be discharged, and aimed to show up early with a bag full of biscuits from the coffee shop. (“Don’t get the brownies,” Daisy had warned him in a dramatic whisper when the other customers had gone out. “They’re all dry and falling to bits today. Mrs. Patmore – I mean, my manager – she’s been yelling at the supplier on the phone all morning. The biscuits are all right, though.” So Thomas had taken her recommendation, and made do with the biscuits.)

But he was either later than he realized, or the nurse from the psych ward had given him the wrong time. When he approached Ted’s room Ted was surrounded by a small crowd of people. Thomas recognized Sybil, of course, and a nurse he’d seen coming and going often enough on this floor. Beside them was an older woman with thin, angular features that were strikingly like Ted’s; Thomas assumed she must be Mrs. Courtenay. She hung back, as if she were too stiff or too awkward to go to her son, and kept opening and closing the clasp of her handbag in a fidgety, impatient way. Thomas disliked her at once.

The new psychiatrist was there, too. At least Thomas assumed that the older woman with the white doctor’s coat over the red blouse, and with a clipboard in one hand and the other on Ted’s shoulder, must be Doctor Jones. She looked about Clarkson’s age, but a little more with it. Maybe that was just Thomas’s prejudices speaking.

“Now, I’m going to see you twice a week as an outpatient,” she was saying, in a brisk, commanding voice. “Then we can taper off. But I don’t want you to be alone for long just yet, all right?”

“I understand,” Ted replied. His mother cut him off.

“That won’t be an issue,” she said.

“Ted, you should stop by your flat with me for a bit,” Sybil said. She sounded as authoritative as Doctor Jones, despite being decades younger. “I’ll help you pack some things.”

“I’m not helpless, you know,” Ted [bit out].

Thomas wanted to intervene, but for some stupid reason he could not think of anything to say, and hung back in the corridor like an idiot.

“Don’t be difficult, darling,” Mrs. Courtenay said.

Ted had his back to Thomas, so Thomas couldn’t actually _see_ the look on his face, but he could imagine the grim set of his jaw and the flush of mixed anger and embarrassment on his cheeks.

Thomas stepped forward.

“Doctor Jones, I take it,” he began.

The older woman looked at him. “Yes?

Thomas considered what to say. He wasn’t usually impulsive, but he did get like this sometimes around guys he was interested in – impulsive and protective. He stood tall, forcing himself not to fidget.

“I’m Doctor Barrow,” he said. “I treated Ted – Mr. Courtenay – when he was first admitted, and I just want to see that everything’s all right.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Sybil pursing her lips in concern. But Ted had turned to beam at him, and although Doctor Jones looked bemused, she didn’t ask him to leave or anything.

“That’s very kind,” she said.

Thomas gave her a tight smile, then reached for Ted’s hand.

“Ted, I just – want to shake hands and wish you the best,” he said. “Take care of yourself.”

Ted took Thomas’s hand, but his grip was slack, uncertain. Thomas supposed he was shy in front of so many people.

“Thanks for everything,” Ted murmured. “Really.”

Thomas shrugged, even though the other man couldn’t see it.

“Don’t thank me – just take care of yourself.”

He recalled the day Ted had showed up in the A&E just to say thanks and goodbye. The memory still made his stomach sink. The bruising on Ted’s neck and face had faded, and Thomas had no doubt that Sybil would do her best by him, but the thought of not seeing Ted again was almost enough to bring a lump to his throat. _For fuck’s sake, I can’t react like this._

“And, um, before you go I did get you something from the coffee shop. Since we have such a good one…”

Ted gave him a smile, in spite of everything.

“Thanks again.”

Thomas could feel three or four pairs of eyes on him, wondering at his intrusion. He hated to leave, but he wondered if he wasn’t making things more awkward for Ted by prolonging this conversation in front of everyone.

“Good luck,” he said.

“That was very good of you, Doctor Barrow,” Sybil said. “Let’s catch up in my office tomorrow, shall we?”

Thomas shot her a look of concern. He didn’t like that tone, as if she were going to have to lecture him later – even if she was right and he was only going to make the parting harder for himself.

“Of course,” he said, keeping his voice perfectly polite and taking a quick step back. It was only his respect for Sybil that allowed him to do so.

“Hold on,” Ted said, stepping forward and reaching for Thomas’s hand again. He was standing a bit far away and came up short; his face flushed, so Thomas once again drew nearer to him and grasped his hand. Ted’s grip was firm this time, as if he was almost as reluctant to part ways as Thomas was. _I must be imagining it_ , Thomas told himself.

“You were really – my saviour,” Ted said. His cheeks went even redder. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Thomas said. He really _did_ have a lump forming in his throat now. “And if there’s anything I can do –” he didn’t want to say _call me_ , because it might look wrong to Sybil and Doctor Jones, and things were already awkward enough. “If there’s anything, you know where to find me.”

“Of course.”

Doctor Jones stepped forward, between Ted and Thomas, and Thomas sensed that he should be going. It was just as well. He was at a real risk of losing his control.

“Take care,” he repeated, before forcing himself to walk away from Ted.

He waited until he was in the west elevator bay, well out of sight of anyone he knew. Then he leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths, trying – and failing – to shake that deep sense of loss that threatened to overwhelm him, even though he told himself it was for the best.


	6. Chapter 6

Thomas bit his lower lip and stared as hard as he could at Sybil through the open door of her office. She nodded at him, but pointed to the mobile phone in her hand – as if Thomas hadn’t already noticed it. He shrugged at her.

“Well, get a shoe box and get rid of this one,” Sybil was saying, voice rising enough for Thomas to hear every word. “Yes, I know there are more – but there’s no need to set a bad example for Gwen. I don’t like killing things.” A pause, then Sybil sighed. “I _know_ that. Anyway, get rid of that one before it gets into Gwen’s room and I’ll call the contractor to tell him the mice are back.” She paused again. “It’s _fine_ ; I have time. Bye. I love you.”

Thomas watched her swipe the screen of her phone and beckon him with her other hand.

“Sorry,” Sybil said as Thomas entered the office, “we have mice in the house again.” She laughed. “You shouldn’t buy an old house, in case you were considering it.”

“I’m all right where I am for now,” Thomas said. He couldn’t help smiling back, though he was picking at his thumbnail with one finger below the desk, where he hoped Sybil wouldn’t see. He didn’t particularly want a lecture about professional boundaries or whatever. In fact, he’d been trying not to think about Ted Courtenay all day – not to wish that he were heading up to visit the other man on a break, or reaching for a second brownie at the coffee shop, or wondering morbidly if he should consult the obituaries column just in case [the unthinkable happened…]

“Are you all right after yesterday?” Sybil asked pointedly.

Thomas frowned; he’d expected to dance around it for a bit longer. Then again, Sybil could be very direct sometimes.

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

He regretted it as soon as he spoke. She _was_ trying to help, and he’d involved her in the first place – and would want to hear updates from her about Ted’s progress. He’d need to.

Besides, he didn’t have so many friends that he could afford to alienate the decent ones.

“Well, you didn’t look fine yesterday,” Sybil shot back. She wasn’t one to back down at snappishness; Thomas had learned that much already.

“I’m not going to dredge up everything,” she went on, back to her usual kind tone, “and you’ve done a lot of _good_ , but you know you shouldn’t make things harder on yourself, either.”

“I won’t,” Thomas replied. He made sure to keep his voice level this time. “It’s nothing; I know nothing’s going to happen.” He could feela muscle twitch in his face, and looked down. “I just hope things go well for him. That’s all”

“I think they will,” Sybil said. “I won’t let him fall through the cracks, and neither will Isobel.”

Thomas let out a breath. He looked up at Sybil, just for a second, before turning away again.

“Look,” he began, “I know you can’t tell me much, obviously, but since you’ll be working with him – can you just let me know that things are all right? That’s all I ask.”

Sybil furrowed her brow.

“I _suppose_ so,” she said, “but only the bare minimum, all right? I’m on your side, but it won’t help you to pry or to drag things out, either.”

It was better than nothing. And Thomas trusted her to keep her word, at least.

“Fine,” he said. “Thanks.” Then he forced a smile. “Anyway, I’d best head out. My shift starts soon, and I think you need to call about those mice…”

Sybil laughed at that.

“I will,” she said. “And you’d better get going. People need you.”

*

The problem, of course, was that Thomas didn’t get to _see_ Ted anymore. It was better than having him turn up in the A&E again – Thomas liked to think that that was a good sign – but Thomas missed him.

He told himself he was pathetic. There were more men in the world than an attractive psych patient he might never see again, weren’t there? Yet Ted had been kind and clever and had seemed so interesting, for all he was in such a bad place himself right now. More than that, he’d seen Thomas as something other than the selfish bastard people usually saw him as. Being with him had allowed Thomas to see himself through Ted’s eyes. He’d liked that. The lousy, awkward dates and empty hookups he could find didn’t really compare, and the hours of being overworked in the A&E didn’t do anything to make him forget Ted or stop hoping that things were going all right for him now.

He should have stopped all that. He should have gotten over Ted Courtenay – and gotten over his dad’s death, too, which had made the last year so bleak – but he seemed stuck in a rut. His mum kept in touch, bless her. But Thomas hardly responded, and found himself being more acid with people than ever before, even prompting Daisy to stop mooning and give him a piece of her mind instead.

“Thomas,” Sybil said to him one day, when they crossed paths by the elevators.

Thomas had been hurrying out of the hospital for a smoke, and almost went right by her. He smiled apologetically.

“Are you all right?” Sybil asked.

“Fine,” Thomas said. Then he realized that his hand was clenched so tightly around the pack of cigarettes in his pocket that his joints were starting to hurt. He unclenched his fingers, wincing.

“You look tired,” Sybil said. She looked him up and down and gave a little frown of concern. It would have raised his heckles if it had been anyone else doing it, but Sybil only made Thomas flush.

“Yeah well, you know how it is, the hours… You don’t exactly seem well-rested yourself.”

Sybil grinned. “That’s different. I’ve a baby at home. It’s a temporary stage.”

Thomas smirked. At least that was one stage he was unlikely to experience.

“Anyway, you could take some holiday,” Sybil added as she reached for the button. “Are you going up or down? I’ve a meeting on eighteen…”

“Going down,” Thomas said. Sybil pressed the down button just as one elevator arrived on its way up.

“You know this hospital could run without you,” she continued, “and I’ll be happy to have you for tea on any of my days off if, you stay in town. Think about it – you could meet baby Gwen.”

Thomas wondered why she thought he needed the break. Did he really look so beaten down? Then again, he had time coming to him, and no one here would miss him for a week or two. Maybe he could placate his mum by spending some time with her. Maybe he could get away for a few days, and meet someone nice in some other city…

“You know what?” he said. “I just might. Anyway – I’ll see you around…”

“Cheers,” Sybil said. Then she ducked into the elevator, giving Thomas one last wave of her blue nail varnished fingers.

*

He did take some holiday, finally. He hadn’t taken a day for himself since he started at the hospital, and – well – what was the point of that? He didn’t have much to _do_ , other than spend a long weekend with his mum and update his rather futile online dating profiles, but it was nicenot to be at work for a change.

He supposed he needed time for himself or whatever silly expression people used about things like that. It was a good month for it, too, before the winter and the wretched Christmas travel season set in. He took two weeks off, and actually considered taking a quick trip over to Paris or up to Scotland or something just to change the scenery.

It would be a damn small change if he did go. He probably wouldn’t bother, though he did go to see a travel agency on a lark one Saturday afternoon. Sybil had recommended the place to him. They weren’t much use; Thomas didn’t see why she’d raved about how helpful they had been to her in planning her honeymoon. Then again, he didn’t really need them. But he refrained from rolling his eyes or saying anything obviously sarcastic to the smiling blonde girl who served him. When he left, he tried to interest himself in some shops that he didn’t have in his own neighbourhood, and stopped in a large park he’d never been in before making his way back to his flat.

It had rained all night. The weather was dry now, but it had left the autumn leaves soggy and sad in colour. The sun tried and failed to break out from behind the clouds; it reminded Thomas somehow of the girl at the travel agency. The thought made Thomas roll his eyes at no one in particular.

He would have liked to say he was enjoying the holiday and the fine weather, although it could hardly be called fine and he knew he probably looked like an idiot standing around alone with just a cigarette in his hand. There was nothing terribly enjoyable about it. But when the sun did burst from the clouds it warmed his skin. He supposed he could stay out a bit longer.

He was leaning against a fence when a black Labrador came bounding toward him, tail wagging. Thomas drew back instinctively – he wouldn’t say he was tense, but he’d had bad experiences with dogs before. He turned to look for the animal’s owner when he heard a voice that he would have recognized anywhere.

“Ace! Ace, come!”

And Thomas couldn’t help but follow the dog toward a bench that was half-hidden by trees. Sure enough, Ted Courtenay was sitting there, looking sharp in a dark grey jumper over jeans. Thomas’s mouth went dry.

The dog ran up to Ted and nuzzled his hand as he began buckling it into a bright yellow harness.

“Good girl,” he said, sounding happier than Thomas had ever heard him. “Now, back to work. We’re going home.”

He stood up. The dog rose from its sitting position, as if to stand at attention. Thomas watched them and took a step forward. He could not think of anything to say.

Ted headed him off.

“Is someone there?” he asked. His brow furrowed in a look of concern.

 _Well played_ , Thomas berated himself. _Now I get to look like some sort of stalker…_

“It’s – Doctor Barrow, from the hospital,” he replied. It was awkward all around, and he hated to bring up painful memories when Ted looked so much better, but he couldn’t let the other man go without saying something.

To his relief Ted relaxed. That lovely, crooked smile pulled at his perfect mouth.

“I’m so glad,” he said. “How are you?”

Thomas beamed at him.

“Fine. Are – are you doing better?”

Ted’s bright expression faltered for a moment.  He still looked rather haggard when he frowned, but when he spoke again, the brightness of his voice reassured Thomas.

“Much better thane I was,” he said.

If Sybil had been standing there in Thomas’s place, he knew she would have reached forward to hug Ted. It would have been the most natural thing for someone like her. But Thomas had never been great at showing kindness or at liking other people, and his history with Ted made things even more complicated than usual. He stood a safe distance from the other man, smiling like an idiot and letting the cigarette between his fingers burn down.

“I’m really happy to hear that,” he said.

“Do you have a minute?” Ted asked. “Because I’ve wanted so much to thank you. If you could walk with me for a bit…”

Thomas knew better than to mistake gratitude for attraction. Still, a chance to spend time with Ted meant a lot to him, even if it was just five minutes.

“Of course,” he said. “I didn’t do much though. Just my job.”

Ted shook his head. A few wayward curls clung to his forehead, tousled by the breeze. He reached his hand up to shove them back.

“Don’t say that,” he insisted. “You were very helpful and it meant a lot to me.”

“Well,” Thomas fumbled. “I’m glad.”

“Were you heading out of the park? Because we can continue talking for a bit, if we’re both going the same way…”

“Yeah, sure,” Thomas replied.

He wondered if it would be polite to offer help. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to touch Ted, though he didn’t think it would be necessary, and it wasn’t. Ted murmured “forward” to the dog – _Ace, he’d called her_ – and they followed Thomas together.

“Do you live near here?” Ted asked.

“No,” Thomas replied. “But I had some errands in the neighbourhood. You?”

Ted shook his head ruefully. “God, no. Not on my pension.”

Thomas frowned. “I’m sorry; I didn’t want to get into it.”

“It’s all right,” Ted said. “I’m looking around for things and I’m much better off than I was.” He made a face. “My brother even offered to invent something for me, something with the company, but I know it would have been a pretext to write me cheques, and – well – I’d rather find something real, on my own.” His slim fingers curled more tightly around the dog’s harness.

“My family’s in business, you know,” he added.

Thomas remembered.

“Yeah, you mentioned that when we met.”

Ted’s grin broadened and became even more crooked.

“Well, you were awfully attentive,” he joked. Thomas could feel his face heating up. “But, then, you were so helpful and – understanding with me. I wanted to go down to the hospital to thank you, but I didn’t know when I’d catch you and I kept putting it off…”

He probably hadn’t wanted to worry Thomas, either – or at least Thomas liked to think so, after the last time Ted had come to say goodbye to him. God, seeing Ted with colour in his cheeks and hope in his face was wonderful. Thomas thought he might just fall for him all over again.

“Well, at least we ran into each other now.”

His voice sounded giddy – even shrill, heaven forbid. Thomas put a hand to his mouth. He was kicking himself inside for being so soppy. But Ted didn’t seem to mind. He took a step closer to Thomas. Thomas stared at him, drinking in the sight and biting his lip.

“Really, I’d be happy to spend some time with you,” Thomas continued. He cleared his throat. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ “If you need anything or just want a friend or whatever.”

It was risky and uncalled for. Thomas’s heart jumped a little when he said it.

“I might just take you up on that,” Ted said slowly. He flushed a little himself. Thomas wondered why, wondered if he might stand some chance with this man.

“I’ve lost touch with a lot of people,” Ted added as he dropped his hand to caress the dog’s ear. “So it might be nice. Thank you.”

 _Thank_ you, Thomas thought, but bit his tongue to stop from saying it. He was already starting to sound like a schoolgirl with her first boyfriend.

“I think it would be nice,” he said instead. “Do you want to get something to eat now? There must be something around here and we could – catch up.”

Ted raised his eyebrows, knowingly. The look made Thomas want to squirm.

“I’m free if you are,” Ted said.

Thomas laughed, a nervous release of breath more than anything else.

“Then, um, we can find a sandwich shop or maybe just get coffee…”

Thomas stopped short, knowing how foolish he must sound. But Ted stepped closer to him, reaching for Thomas with his free hand. Thomas froze. He didn’t _know_ if the gesture was a plea for help, or for contact. Either way, his skin tingled in anticipation.

Ted’s fingers found Thomas’s arm and wrapped around it. Thomas’s breath hitched in his throat; he could feel the warmth of the other man’s hand. _It’s not a date; he just wants me to help him or something…_

“That sounds great,” Ted murmured. “Let’s go.”

And Thomas did, because he couldn’t say no – despite the voice in his mind whispering that he’d only fall harder and that it would almost certainly be to no avail. But it was worth the risk to walk out of that little park with Ted holding him, black dog trotting just ahead of them, and the autumn sun shining on them at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this story is done, and am so grateful to everyone who's read, commented, reblogged and left kudos. Thanks so much! I may come back and polish this chapter a bit more as I feel iffy on the editing, but wanted to at least try to finish it. And of course I had to have (...spoiler...) a happy ending for these two, or at least a hopeful one.


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